Todos los capítulos de Wrapped in rosary (Book 1 of Holy trinity series) : Capítulo 51 - Capítulo 59

Pov - Stella Grace?He didn't just look mad; he looked absolutely feral. This wasn't the kind of anger where he wanted to kill me. This was the kind of rage that made him look like he wanted to burn this entire building to the ground, with everyone in it, just to watch the world burn. His eyes were like two raging fires, and the sight of them sent a jolt of pure terror through me. I didn't even think; my body just reacted, taking a small, fearful step back. My mind was screaming at me to run, but my feet only managed to back away, completely paralyzed by the sheer intensity of his fury.I couldn't wrap my head around it. His rage was so intense, but why? I was just trying to do what I thought was normal in this world. I'd been watching these men all night, and it was obvious they preferred being with multiple women, even in front of their wives. I was just offering Ryker the same thing, making it easier for him to get what he clearly wanted. I was even taking the initiative, and inst

POV - Ryker Lance.As we burst out of the hotel and plunged into the bullet-riddled chaos of the parking lot, my entire focus narrowed to one single, burning objective: getting Stella into that car. My body was a constant shield, moving with brutal, desperate efficiency, using every overturned vehicle and shadow for cover.It only took a single, damn moment—a split second where my attention wasn't total—but I should have known better. In my world, a moment is a lifetime. One second, we were scrambling toward the black sedan; the next, I caught a sliver of movement—a motherfucker tucked behind an armored van—and the sickening glint of metal as he aimed straight for her.My Stella. My precious canary. I handle her like she’s spun glass, afraid to touch her too roughly in case I bruise her, and this son of a bitch has a gun pointed at my sweet flower.My blood didn't just turn to ice—it ran cold with a feeling I’d never known. Ryker Lance has never known terror; I am the terror that haunt

Ryker's POV.I lay perfectly still, a silent, smug master of ceremonies presiding over my own melodrama. Beneath the cool, comforting weight of the blankets and the fresh bandages, I felt absolutely fantastic. The bullet wound was a superficial scratch, but the performance I had just delivered deserved a standing ovation.I could feel the frantic, trembling grip of her hand around mine. Her pulse, racing like a trapped bird's, was a drumbeat of pure possession against my wrist. She was clutching me as if I were a lifeline she’d just barely managed to secure. She thought she was staring at her death, and in her fear, she was revealing the truth: she needed me.Get up and be annoying. Her choked plea echoed in my head, and a silent, wicked grin stretched across my face. I was fighting the urge to open my eyes just to kiss that panicked sound right off her lips. I am being annoying, kitten. I'm annoying you with my silence, annoying you with this terrifying stillness, forcing you to co

"Don't move, I will do everything," I commanded, my voice strained but firm, determined to adhere to the safety precautions I’d set. I carefully straddled his abdomen, my focus absolute, making sure my knees rested gingerly on the mattress on either side of his hips, keeping my weight entirely off his stitched chest. When he tried to slide down the bed, clearly preparing to leverage his height for better access, I glared at him and roared, a sound surprisingly fierce, "Stay put!"The force of my attention made him stop. I immediately peeled his jacket off my body, the heavy fabric falling away to reveal my exposed skin to his hungry, predatory gaze. A shiver, part fear, part anticipation, ran through me. I moved forward on my knees, agonizingly slow, ensuring my body didn't even graze past his bandaged wound. Once I safely navigated the danger zone, I stopped, hovering right on top of his face. Ryker was laying perfectly still, watching me with predatory, gleaming eyes, the silence of

The silence that followed was heavy, thick with the scent of sex, sweat, and the sharp, clinical tang of antiseptic that lingered in the room. I stayed draped over Ryker for a long moment, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his chest, my breath coming in ragged, shallow hitches. My body felt heavy, completely spent, and so sensitive that even the slight movement of his chest beneath me sent ripples of lingering electricity through my nerves.I had just ridden my husband on an operating table. The man who, according to the doctor, had almost died only hours ago.The realization hit me like a bucket of ice water. I suddenly scrambled to sit up, my movements clumsy and frantic as I remembered the bullet wound. My hands were shaking as I tried to pull myself off him, my eyes wide with a new kind of terror."Ryker, oh my god, the stitches," I gasped, my voice cracking. I looked down at his chest, fully expecting to see blood soaking through the fresh white bandages, expecting to s